četrtek, 22. september 2016

The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino


About a week ago my boss brought each of us an angel saying. They pretty much hit the spot with all of us. Mine said: “Never give up before you’ve examined all the possibilities.” It was just perfect, and it made me think of The Baron in the Trees I just finished. To examine all the possibilities a person has to be able to see things from a different perspective. And why not from a tree?

One day Cosimo, eldest son of the baron of Rondo decides not to eat snails prepared by his sister Batista. He climbs the oak in the garden and vows never to climb down. His family takes his action for a whim he will eventually grow out of. However, they are in for a surprise. Cosimo fulfils his promise and never leaves the trees until the day he dies. He is a rebel. No baron’s son behaves like that, living on trees is not suitable for a nobleman, let alone the eldest son in the family and an heir to the title. He refused to come down and take up the duties of his station. What he did is a complete breach of society rules. This is exactly why I likeed Cosimo. His arboreal existence achieved more than any revolutionary action would. He started to see the world from a different perspective, from above. He said it himself: from a high place everyone looks small.

Even if he removed himself from the society he continued to study, he read books he traded for animals he caught, proving that money isn’t the only means of buying things. He became famous abroad, so he corresponded with great men like Diderot and Rousseau. He cared about his people, constantly thinking how to better their lives by thinking up a plan to irrigate their fields, to defend them form fires and even to protect them from pirates. He even converted a brigand by introducing him to books. His father eventually gave his sword to him, a symbol of his power as a baron, thus admitting Cosimo is of a right material to take over his father’s position once he dies.


The story is told by Cosimo’s little brother Biaggio, at first from a viewpoint of a child, but latter as the story evolves, he refers to himself as an old man. We learn about Cosimo’s life in the trees, his love affairs, his inventions, his everyday life like eating, sleeping, hunting. He did everything his fellow men on the ground did, just differently. Always keep a different perspective on things, never take anything for granted and never stop questioning things. Or as it is said in the book: “Anyone who wants to see the earth properly must keep himself at a necessary distance from it.” 


*

Pred kakim tednom je šefica vsakemu prinesla angelsko misel. Moja se je glasila: "Ne obupajte, preden ne preizkusite vseh možnih izhodov."  Misel mi je na pisana na kožo, saj je prva stvar, ki mi pride na misel, ko se kar koli ustavi ta, da moram poiskati druge možnosti, preden začnem cviliti. Spomnila sem se tudi knjige, ki sem jo ravnokar prebrala. Da bi preizkusili vse možne izhode, moramo znati videti stvari z druge perspektive. Zakaj ne z drevesa?

Nekega dne se Cosimo, najstarejši sin barona Rondo odloči, da se bo jedel polžev, ki jih je pripravila njegova sestra Batista. Spleza na drevo v vrtu in družini oznani, da ne bo več prišel dol. Ne jemljejo ga resno, saj vendar nihče ne živi na drevesih, tudi Cosimo si bo premislil, ko bo užaljenost zaradi polžev nekoliko uplahnila. Čaka jih presenečenje, saj Cosimo izpolni obljubo in do smrti ne zapusti dreves. Cosimo je upornik. Baronov sin vendar ne vede tako. Življenje na drevesih ni primerno plemiču, kaj šele dediču naslova in posesti. Cosimo ne uboga in ne sprejema doložnosti svojega stanu na pričakovan način. Njegovo dejanje je popolna ignoranca pravil družbe. Ravno zaradi tega mi je bil Cosimo všeč. Z življenjem na drevesih je dosegel več kot bi z resnim uporom družinskim in družbenim mormam. Svet je nenadoma videl z druge perspektive, od zgoraj in kot je sam rekel: od zgoraj so vsi videti majhni.

Ne glede na to, da se je ločil od družbe, se ni nehal učiti. Veliko je bral, knjige je kupoval z dobrinami, na primer z živalmi, ki jih je ujel, s tem pa je dokazal, da denar ni edino plačilno sredstvo. Kot znana oseba doma in v tujini, se je dopisoval z velikimi misleci, kot sta Diderot in Rousseau. Skrbel je za ljudi, nenehno je razmišljal kako lahko izboljša njihovo življenje z  izboljševanjem namakalnega sistema, varstvom pred požari in celo pred gusarji. Celo razbojnika je spreobrnil, ko mu je predstavil svet knjig in branja. Čez čas mu je oče predal svoj meč in tako priznal, da je kljub življenju na drevesu, Cosimo iz pravega materiala, da bi podedoval očetov naslov in posesti.

Zgodbo pripoveduje Cosimov mlajši brat Biaggio. Opisuje Cosimovo življenje na drevesih, njegove ljubezenske zgodbe, izume in vsakdanje življenje, prehranjevanje, spanje in lov. Počel je vse tisto, kar počnejo ljudje, ki živijo na tleh, samo drugače. Cosimo nam sporoča, da je vedno dobro stvari videti z druge perspektive, da nič ni samoumevno in da moramo vedno ohranjati kanček zdravega dvoma. Z njegovimi besedami mora vsak, ki želi svet videti z druge perspektive, ohraniti distanco do njega.



ponedeljek, 19. september 2016

The Sea of Meaningless Words


It was quite a long time since I worked on this painting. Something bothered me so I abandoned it for a while. Several ideas came and went just to make me return to the original one. I guess my winter demons were in action. The Waterbirds kept flying around me enveloping me in their watery games. I kept looking for the void, the big emptiness in other people's paintings, aiming to create my own blue void, something to correspond to a feeling I got when I lost myself in their full void. I don't think it works that way, or of it does, it's not that simple. I think I can still hear the Waterbirds whispering simultaneously: "We told you so." Their soft watery whisper slowly fades away, before they reappear and do it all over again. 

The crumpled paper with the lettering, words which don't mean anything anymore. Perhaps they never meant anything. Gilded lines, remnants of a possible illumination taken from somewhere in the middle ages where right now the snow stopped in mid-air while I walk through the empty scriptorium stealing gold from parchment. It was just before the Vikings came and their leader with a long blond braid down his back hurled valuable books into the sea making them worthless, their words meaningless. I stood at the door. He couldn't see me, but he felt me watching him. The wind blew from the sea, whispering words without meaning back at him. The sea is full of them, the crumpled paper in its watery cage. The overcast sky hangs low. It doesn't whisper, it doesn't move, its silent letters just sit there, overlapping. The smell of stone I felt in that medieval scriptorium is still with me while I sip red wine in the light of a crimson candle.




*

Na tej sliki me je nekaj motilo, zato sem jo za nekaj časa pustila pri miru. Medtem se mi je porodilo nekaj drugačnih idej, vendar sem vse zavrgla v korist prvotne. Saj vem, gotovo so bili na delu moji zimski demoni, moje Vodne ptice, ki so me obletavale in me zapletale v svoje vodne igre. V slikah drugih ljudi sem iskala veliko praznino, ki sem jo želela ustvariti sama, da bi ustrezala čustvu, ki sem ga doživela ob izgubi v njihovih slikah. Najbrž to ne deluje tako, če že pa gotovo ni tako preprosto. Še vedno se mi zdi, da slišim moje Vodne ptice kako mi simultano šepečejo: "Saj smo ti rekle." Njihov mehak vodni šepet počasi izgine in potem se znova vrnejo.

Zmečkan papir s črkami, besedami, ki ne pomenijo ničesar več. Morda pa nikoli niso ničesar pomenile. Zlate linije, ostanki možne iluminacije, vzete od nekod iz srednjega veka, kjer je ravnokar sneg obstal v zraku, medtem ko stopam skozi prazen skriptorij in kradem pozlato s pergamenta. Bilo je tik preden so prišli Vikingi in je njihov poveljnik, mož z lasmi spletenimi v kito, ki mu je padala vzdolž hrbta, zagnal dragocene knjige v morje, jih razvrednotil in povzročil, da besede ne pomenijo ničasar več. Stala sem ob vratih. Ni me mogel videti, vendar je čutil, da ga opazujem. Veter je zapihal z morja in mu šepetal besede brez pomena. Morje jih je polno, polno je zmečkanega papirja in pozlate. Oblačno nebo visi nizko nad vodo. Ne šepeta, ne premika se, njegove tihe črke sedijo tam in se prepletajo med seboj. Še vedno čutim vonj po kamnu iz srednjeveškega skriptorija, medtem ko pijem rdeče vino ob svetlobi temno rdeče sveče.





petek, 16. september 2016

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay


Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes
Watchin' the ships roll in
Then I watch 'em roll away again, yeah*



M and I spent five days in Koper, a port town on Slovenian coast. The coast is only an hour ride from Ljubljana, so I never seriously thought of spending my holydays there. We always look for faraway places to go to. Why not spend some more time in a town we have already visited, but left before it could leave an imprint on our memory. By memory I'm referring to the sentimental part, the one full of hidden meanings I haven't deciphered yet. And I'm not likely to, since I don't put enough effort into it. I like it as it is, misty and smelling of salt and wet stone.

I never thought watching ships could be a zen like experience. The first time we saw one was one late evening while we were sitting on the beach in near-by Žusterna. There were a couple of boys splashing by the pier and a woman having a stressing conversation on her phone. A rat came by, passed quickly just centimetres away from water and disappeared in shadows again. Then we saw the ship with every light on the bridge lit, gliding slowly towards the port. From then on we spent quite some time just sitting on the bench under plane trees near the port in Koper, watching the ships being loaded and unloaded. The cranes moved huge containers as if they were Lego blocks. Whatever was in there, I kept asking myself. Books, printed in China, because it was cheaper, rattan chairs form Thailand, Japanese paper ... you name it, it must be there. 

There's a fleet of divine beings moored by the wharf: Neptun, Zeus, Sirius, Wotan and Maks. They bring the ships in, and when they are loaded and ready to leave, they turn them and tow them out. We just sat there watching till one of us, usually me, got cold and we left. The next day there would be a new ship waiting to be unloaded and watched form our bench beneath the plane trees. We are not the only ones sitting there and the port never sleeps.







Zadnjih pet dni sva z M-jem preživela v Kopru. Glede na to, da je obala samo dobro uro vožnje stran od Ljubljane, mi nikoli ni zares prišlo na misel, da bi šla tja na dopust. Nenehno se izmišljujeva kraje, ki so relativno daleč. Zakaj pa ne bi enkrat preživela nekaj dni v mestu, ki sva ga že obiskala, a sva ga zapustila še preden je uspelo pustiti odtis v spominu? Ko govorim o spominu mislim na sentimentalni del, tisti, ki je poln skritih pomenov, ki jih še nisem razvozlala. Najverjetneje jih niti ne bom, saj se pretirano ne trudim. Všeč mi je, da ostane tako kot je, megličasto, z vonjem po soli in mokrem kamenju.

Nikoli si nisem mislila, da je lahko opazovanje ladij tako zenovsko. Prvo sva videla nekega poznega večera, v temi, ko sva sedela na plaži v bližnji Žusterni. Nekaj fantov je skakalo v vodo s pomola, dekle na cesti za nama se je pogovarjalo po telefonu. Iz senc je pogledala podgana, stekla po produ tik ob vodi in spet izginila v senci. Potem je v najino vidno polje priplula ogromna ladja, namenjena v koprsko pristanišče. Vse luči na mostu je imela prižgane. Od takrat dalje sva prebila kar nekaj časa na klopi pod platanami s pogledom na luko in opazovala ladje. Žerjavi so prekladali kontejnerje, kot da bi bili Lego kocke. Kaj neki je bilo v njih? Knjige, natisnjene na Kitajskem, ker je ceneje, stoli iz ratana s Tajske, japonski papir ... Kar se spomniš, je tam.

Ob pomolu je privezana flota božanstev: Neptun, Zeus, Sirius, Wotan in Maks. Vsako novo ladjo privlečejo v pristanišče in jo, ko je naložena in pripravljena na odhod, obrnejo in odvlečejo ven. Po navadi sva jih opazovala dokler ni nekoga od naju, po navadi mene, začelo zebsti. Naslednji dan je bila v luki nova ladja, ki sva jo opazovala s klopi pod platanami. Luka nikoli ne spi.




* Otis Redding, Sittin on the Dock of the Bay


petek, 09. september 2016

Watercolour Glazes


Know your medium, they say. S once told me I should practice glazes by painting each watercolour over all of them. Even ones I know don't go together. I should get about 15 m of paper, covered in 10 by 10 cm squares, depending on the number of colour's I've got. In my White Nights watercolours set, there are 33 colours, so I got to work. I decided on smaller squares, only 2 by 2cm on B1 format watercolour paper, because I wanted all 1089 of them on the same surface. It was the best exercise! I just might do the same with my Rembradts.



*

Dobro je poznati medij, s katerim delaš. S mi je nekoč položil na srce naj vadim lazure tako, da vse barve prebarvam z vsemi. Tudi tiste, ki ne gredo skupaj. Rezultat bi moral biti 15 m papirja, pokritega s kvadratki s stranico 10 cm, seveda odvisno od tega koliko barv imaš. Mojih ruskih je 33, tako da sem se lotila dela, na matematično "znanstven" način. Odločila sem se za manjše kvadratke, samo 2 × 2 cm, vse na akvarelnem papirju v formatu B1, saj sem hotela imeti vseh 1089 na eni površini. S je imel prav. Vaja je bila odlična. Čisto lahko, da bom enako naredila z Rembradtom.


ponedeljek, 05. september 2016

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro


I don't know how to write about this book without letting know too much. Kath, Tommy and Ruth are children brought up in Hailsham, a boarding school where nobody speaks about their families or leaves the school for holydays. The most important thing is being creative. The school tolerates sex but strictly forbids smoking. The students have to remain healthy. They have medical check-ups every week. They mention donations, possibles and deferrals and I first I didn't know what it meant. It didn't bother me not knowing. Then I learnt they are clones with the sole purpose in life to donate vital organs. This is what they are here for. 

This was my second Kazuo Ishiguro novel. The first was When We Were Orphans and I quite liked it. Did I like Never Let Me Go? The answers are both Yes and I don't know (if the latter is even possible). I like Ishiguro's writing. However I found the story disturbing. So "I don't know" part refers to this. After I finished it, no, before, when I learned what really went on, I felt kind of uncomfortable. I kept thinking why they didn't just leave, escape, go away. I remember thinking I would leave if I were one of them. Would I really? People find themselves in difficult circumstances in real life yet they don't just leave. It's not that easy. Kath, Tommy and Ruth were brought up in isolation. They know that different people exist and they know they aren't like them. They were also told that they were special.

Never Let Me Go is classified as a science fiction novel, however I'm not sure I agree. We don't get any clone background, no hospital background, no information who gets the organs and how it is done. It seems like getting an organ from a clone is a perfectly normal thing. And this is the most disturbing and scary part, the one that made me think the most.

*

O tej zgodbi je težko pisati, ne da bi človek preveč povedal. Kath, Tommy in Ruth obiskujejo Hailshamsko internatsko šolo, kjer nihče ne govori o svoji družini in ne odide domov na počitnice. Najpomembnejša je kreativnost. Šola tolerira spolne odnose, medtem ko je kajenje strogo prepovedano, saj morajo učenci skrbeti za zdravje. Vsak teden imajo zdravniški pregled. V pogovorih mimo grede omenjajo donacije, možne modele in odloge, česar od začetka nisem razumela, vendar to ni vplivalo na branje in sledenje zgodbi. Nekje na polovici knjige izvemo, da so junaki zgodbe kloni, z eno samo nalogo v življenju - darovanjem organov. 

Ne zapusti me nikdar je drugi roman Kazua Ishigura, ki sem ga prebrala. Prvi je bil Ko smo bili sirote in mi je bil všeč. Pa ta? Da in ne vem hkrati. Všeč mi je Ishigurov stil pisanja, medtem, ko se mi je zdela zgodba po svoje grozljiva. Še posebej zato, ker je obravnavana na tako ležeren način, kot da je to najbolj normalna stvar. Spraševala sem se zakaj preprosto ne odidejo, ne zbežijo. Jaz bi že, če bi bila na njihovem mestu. Pa bi res? Ljudje se znajdejo v najrazličnejših težkih okoliščinah pa ne odidejo. Ni tako preprosto. Kath, Tommy in Ruth so bili vzgojeni ločeno od zunanjega sveta. No, ne čisto, vedo, da obstajajo tudi drugačni ljudje, vedo pa tudi, da so drugačni od njih. Učitelji jim nenehno ponavljajo, da so posebni.

Ne zapusti me nikdar naj bi bil znanstveno fantastični roman. Ne strinjam se čisto s to klasifikacijo. Nimamo podrobnejših informacij o klonih, ne vemo kaj se dogaja v bolnišnicah, oz. izvemo zelo zelo malo. Zgodba ne govori o prejemnikih organov, niti kako se opracije odvijajo. Videti je, da je prejemanje organov od klonov nekaj čisto normalnega. Ravno to je bil zame grozljivi del zgodbe, ki mi je dal misliti. 

torek, 23. avgust 2016

Flooded by Watercolours


About six weeks ago I spent some time in Banat, Serbia as I usually do in summertime. This time I wrote mainly about sculpture, large clay statues made in Terra Studio in a former 19th century roof tile factory. However what I encountered every now and again were watercolours. Everyone seems to be talking about them or painting them. It was sort of an elegant, slow and silent flooding, they remained in the corner of my eye, constantly there, gentle, in a way even more present than the sculpture. 

Last year I attended a watercolour symposium held in Ajdovščina during the Watercolour Biennial Castra 2015. I learned that in Slovenia watercolours were never thought of much, mostly they were a part of preparatory stage for oils or just a sketching method. This year, while I was in Kikinda I went to see an exhibition in National Museum, a selection from Milutin Popović's watercolour collection. According to the catalogue Mr. Popović collected watercolours by 20th century Serbian painters form the avant guard on. Watercolours seemed to be quite a big thing up to the 1980s. 

In 2014 I attended Tiska akademija akvarela (Tisa Watercolours Academy), an artist colony dedicated solely to the watercolours. Invited artists have been gathering every year for five days in August for the last 21 years. Before I lost myself in acrylics I used to do calligraphy in watercolours. Nevertheless the colony was my fires real contact with watercolour painting. It didn't take long for me to become hooked. However there's a catch (there always is, isn't it). Calligraphy in watercolours isn't the same as watercolour painting. There are some new techniques I need to master. I spent some time researching watercolours and decided on two opposite approaches. One is atmospheric watercolours in the technique taught by an English water-colourist Jean Haines. The other one is totally different. It's done by placing layer upon layer upon layer of watercolour on the paper like Aleksandar Bogdanović paints. I met Saša during the colony and we became fast friends. He's coming to Slovenia in September. I'm counting the days...


Nacionalni muzej Kikinda (http://www.muzejkikinda.com/)
*

Poleti greva z M-jem na dopust tudi v Vojvodino. Letošnji obisk je bil, kar zadeva umetnost, bolj posvečen skulpturi, velikim kipom in gline, ki jih delajo na vsakoletni koloniji Terra v kompleksu nekdanje opekarne na obrobju mesta. Ne glede na to, se me je tu in tam spet dotaknil akvarel. Kamorkoli sva šla, se mi je zdelo, da ljudje slikajo akvarele ali vsaj govorijo o njih. Nekako elegantno, počasi in tiho so me poplavili, nenehno so ostali v kotičku očesa, nežno, celo bolj kot skulptura.

Lansko leto sem se udeležila simpozija v okviru Bienala akvarela Castra 2015 v Ajdovščini. Tam sem izvedela, da je bil akvarel skozi zgodovino na slovenskih tleh bolj kot ne obravnavan kot pripravljalna tehnika za olje ali za skice in da ga galeristi ne ljubijo preveč. Letos sva obiskala nacionalni muzej v Kikindi, kjer je bil razstavljen izbor iz zbirke akvarelov Milutina Popovića. Glede na informacije v katalogu, je g. Popović zbiral akvarele srbskih slikarjev od avantgarde dalje. Akvareli so bili pomemben likovni izraz do 80. let 20. stoletja.

Poleti 2014 sem se udeležila Tiske akademije akvarela, kolonije, ki je posvečena čistemu akvarelu. Vabljeni umetniki se za pet dni v avgustu že 21 let zbirajo v Novem Bečeju in ustvarjajo v ateljeju tamkajšnjega kulturnega doma. Preden so me prevzele akrilne barve, sem se ukvarjala s kaligrafijo, v glavnem z akvarelnimi barvicami. Ne glede na to pa sem na koloniji videla, da je akvarelno slikarstvo nekaj povsem drugega. Nisem potrebovala veliko, da sem se ujela v past, vendar tudi tu (kot seveda povsod) nek ampak čepi za vogalom. Moja kaligrafija je čisto OK, vendar je akvarel povezan z zame novimi tehnikami, ki se jih moram naučiti. Lotila sem se raziskovanja in našla dve različni tehniki, ki sta me pritegnili. Ena je abstraktna, atmosferična, kot jo uči angleška akvarelistka Jean Haines. Druga je popolnoma drugačna in pomeni nanašanje plasti na plast na plast lazurne barve na papir. Na ta način slika Aleksanar Bogdanović, ki sem ga spoznala pred dvema letoma v Novem Bečeju. Saša letos septembra prihaja v Slovenijo. Odštevam dneve ...


Tiska akademija akvarela. Foto vir/source: http://www.domkulturenb.com


sreda, 10. avgust 2016

The Secret History by Donna Tartt


On the first page we learn that Bunny is dead. We know who killed him but we don't yet know why. At first the book seems to be an inverted murder mystery. But is it all there is?

There's a group of five rich students of ancient Greek and there's Richard, an ordinary kid trying to escape from the life of his father's gas station in a small town in California. Richard's interest in literature and beauty strongly contrasts the life he left behind. At first he isn't admitted into Julian’s little circle of Greek students. Later the professor changes his mind and admits Richard into his closed isolated group. His need to belong to this privileged group borders on obsession. Richard invents his past life, his family and schooling to sound much more glamorous as it really was.

Richard admits he doesn't know whether he likes his fellow students, the same people he tries to impress. Someone in the novel says that none of them is smart enough to latter in life make a career in teaching or the academia. It seems studying Greek is a form of killing time for them. They are detached from reality.  They have no clue about the everyday life, the real world, the outside. They are isolated from other students.

Wrapped up in their Greek studies they decide to hold a bacchanal from which Richard and Bunny are excluded. What happens there is real. From that point on, beauty turns into darkness. They experience blackmail, harassment, and their own secrets being thrown at them. They contemplate ending it all often enough, they talk about it, plan it but it all seems like a game, like something imagined, not real. Until it finally happens.

The why of the murder is pretty clear up to the middle of the novel. After the murder they wait for the body to be found, they search for it and after it is found they attend Bunny's funeral. After that we read about repeated scenes of drinking, drugs and medications abuse, hangovers, panic attacks, paranoia, psychological strains, leading to the disintegration of the group.

I rather enjoyed this book. After I finished it I kept thinking about what isolation can do to people who live in their own (privileged) world without caring about what goes on around them. Would it be any different if the bacchanal and the events immediately following it didn't happen? I don't think so.

*

Že na prvi strani knjige izvemo, da je Bunny mrtev. Vemo tudi kdo ga je ubil, ne vemo pa še zakaj. Na prvi pogled gre za obrnjeno kriminalko, je pa ta knjiga še marsikaj drugega.

Opravka imamo s petimi bogatimi študent stare grščine in z Richardom, čisto navadnim mulcem, ki skuša zbežati pred življenjem na očetovi bencinski črpalki v malem mestu nekje v Kaliforniji. Richardovo zanimanje za literaturo in lepoto ne bi moglo biti drugačno od življenja njegovih staršev in okolja, v katerem je odrasel. Sprva ga profesor ne sprejme, potem pa si premisli in zanj najde mesto v svoji mali skupini študentov. Richardova potreba po pripadnosti meji na obsedenost. S časom si izmisli bleščeče življenje, ki naj bi ga živel v Kaliforniji, ki je zelo drugačno od resničnega.

Richard prizna, da ni prepričan ali so mu kolegi, ljudje, ki si jih želi navdušiti, sploh všeč. Ne glede na njihov dosedanji študij, nihče od njih ni dovolj pameten, da bi kasneje v življenju zgradil kariero v akademskih krogih. Videti je, da je zanje študij grščine samo zabijanje časa. Odmaknjeni so od resničnosti, ne vedo kaj se dogaja v vsakdanjem življenju, zunaj njihovih interesnih meja. Zaradi načina študija v majhni skupni in zahteve profesorja, da skoraj vse predmete poslušajo pri njem, postanejo izolirani od drugih študentov.

Prežeti s študijem stare grščine in vsega kar sodi zraven, se odločijo, da poskusijo prirediti bakanalije, vendar brez Richarda in Bunnyja. Kar se zgodi tam, je zelo resnično. Od te točke dalje se lepota sprevrže v temačnost. Njihov vsakdan izpolnijo nadlegovanje, grožnje, izsiljevanje z lastnimi skrivnostmi. Pogosto razmišljajo o tem kako bi vse skupaj končali, pogovarjajo se o tem, načrtujejo, vendar je kljub temu to zanje kot igra, kot nekaj, kar ne obstaja, nekaj namišljenega. Dokler se resnično ne zgodi.

Do sredine romana nam je jasno kakšen je motiv za umor. Po umoru čakajo, da bo kdo našel truplo, sodelujejo pri iskanju in potem, ko ga najdejo, se udeležijo Bunnyjevega pogreba. Potem beremo o ponavljajočih se prizorih popivanja, zlorabe drog in zdravil, mačkastih jutrih, napadih panike, paranoje, psiholoških napetostih, kar na koncu vodi k razpadu skupine.

Knjiga mi je bila všeč. Potem, ko sem jo prebrala, nisem nehala razmišljati o moči, ki jo ima izolacija nad človekom, ki živi v svojem (privilegiranem) svetu in ga ne briga prav dosti kaj se dogaja okoli njega. Bi bilo drugače, če se bakanalije in dogodki, ki so jim neposredno sledili, ne bi zgodile? Mislim, da ne.